


The Reindeer and The Lotus

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Language, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:03:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having been both solo and undercover for too long, will the degree of separation Ethan feels for his... real... life prove to be too big a hurdle to overcome?</p><p>Oh.  And, yeah, okay... 'tis kind of a Christmas fic as well!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Reindeer and The Lotus

**Author's Note:**

> ~ Narrated by Ethan. Self-beta'd.
> 
> ~ Just a bit of angst and some... uh... warm fuzzies (!) for Christmas 'cos, well, on the 22nd of December I suddenly decided that, hey, it would be a good (?) idea to suddenly try to come up with a Christmassy type fic! You know, as you do. (Nothing like leaving things until the last minute, in other words...)
> 
> ~ I truly hope that everyone is having / have had a fantastically happy festive season!

=====================  
The Reindeer and The Lotus  
by TalithaX  
=====================

 

“What? Just what the fuck's wrong with you, huh? I've already said I don't want anything, so why are you still fucking standing there?” Narrowing my eyes, I glare at Will as he stands, open mouthed and expressionless, in the doorway and, just for good measure, sigh both loudly and with obvious exasperation. “Just... Go away and leave me the fuck alone!”

“I...” Taking a step back from the doorway, Will gives me a wounded – kicked puppy – look before slowly shaking his head. “I'm sorry for disturbing you, and I... I'm sorry for breathing,” he murmurs quietly as, clearly accepting this isn't a battle he has any chance of winning, he drops his gaze to the floor before shrugging and, with the cup of coffee he'd come upstairs to offer me still clutched tightly in his hand, walking off.

Alone, and feeling no discernible emotion about either my exchange with Will or, for that matter, anything, I sink down on to the edge of the bed and, because I can and because it doesn't really require any effort or thought on my part, stare aimlessly at absolutely nothing in particular in front of me.

I breathe, and I stare, and...

That's about it, really.

I don't think... or plan... or wish... or regret.

I don't even feel.

I just...

Exist.

Basically, I just exist in a vacuum of my own creation.

It's over. I'm in my own house, convalescing in my own room and in my own bed. The mission was ultimately a success and, hey, it's not as though I've never been tortured before. You know how it is. Been there, done that, got the scars, both physical and mental, to prove it.

Nothing new. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Just...

Nothing.

I feel nothing.

No relief. No comfort. No hope. No reassurance. No pleasure.

No... nothing.

Marcus Paterson, otherwise known by reputation as The Enforcer, having both played his part and, to anyone who might have cared, met his untimely end, I'm once again back to simply being Ethan Hunt. I can, after three long months of living, breathing and embodying the role of Paterson, go back to being me.

Only...

I can't.

That is, I'm struggling.

I'm struggling badly.

I shouldn't be – it's over, I'm alive and back where I belong – but I am.

Am I Paterson? Or am I Hunt? I don't know, perhaps I'm just... nobody?

This world I'm inhabiting now isn't what I'm used to. It's comfortable, and the people hovering around me don't seem to expect anything of me, but it's not... familiar. I don't have to keep my guard up at all times and don't have to worry every second of every day about accidentally letting my act slip, but...

Somehow, it's just not right.

I'm not right.

A female voice suddenly drawling, “You disappoint me,” from the doorway breaking through my reverie of... nothingness... I jerk my head around and, finding Jane glaring at me ominously as she steps into the room, give her a look that's as dismissive as it is uninterested. 

“Yeah, well... Shit happens,” I mutter with a lacklustre shrug as I return my attention to the ever-so-fascinating spot on the wall in front me.

“Mmm... There I was expecting to see you either smirking triumphantly or high-fiving yourself over having so... spectacularly... chewed Will a new one,” Jane continues flatly as, her mood clearly being no better than mine, she stomps over to the bed and, folding her arms across her chest, positions herself directly in my line of sight. “So, are you happy with yourself now, huh?”

“Happy?” I snort, scowling up at her as, in a display of indifference, I rest my hands flat on the mattress behind me and casually lean back. “Why would I be happy that, unable to speak up for himself, Will had to get you to come over in an attempt to appeal to my... very much non-existent, I might add... better nature? If anything...”

“If you'd just pull your head out of your ass for so much as a minute or two you'd know that he didn't have to get me to come over as we were already here,” Jane interrupts, frowning as she gives me a disgusted look. “Yeah. That's right. While I'm not delusional enough to think you might actually give a fuck, Benji's been here as well. At first we told ourselves it was because we wanted to be here for you, but, hey, as a rabid dog offers better company than you do at the moment, we've been staying for Will.” Pausing, she moves closer and, all the time glaring down at me, gives my foot a none-too-gentle kick. “Will. You know Will, don't you? While there was a time in the not too distant past when I would have described him as your partner, in the hope of you actually being able to put two and two together, I think now I'll just go with... your scratching post. You know, that man you keep sharpening your claws on every time he foolishly tries to do something to help you.”

“Of course I know who Will is,” I retort, shifting my foot away from Jane's and, solely in order to be able to petulantly fold my arms across my chest, sitting up straighter, “and, if he doesn't like the way I'm behaving then he's free, just as you all are, to fuck off. I didn't ask him, or anyone for that matter, to baby-sit me and, what's more, I don't need anyone, either. I'm perfectly fine on my own.”

“What you're... perfectly fine... at is behaving like a complete and utter asshole,” Jane snaps, her eyes flashing with the sort of emotion I can't even imagine possessing right at this point in time. “Look. I get that you've been on your own for three months and that, because of this, you've got the lone fucking wolf thing down pat, but...” Sighing, she crouches down in front me and lightly places her hand on my knee. “You're not alone now, Ethan, and unless that's how you truly want it to be, you're going to have to put more effort into... at least... trying... to come back to us.”

Pulling my knee away from Jane's hand, I shake my head and shoot her an annoyed look. “It's easy for you to say, isn't it,” I mutter. “You weren't there and you don't know what I had to...”

“You're right,” Jane murmurs, once again cutting me off as, shrugging, she stands up and goes back to looking down at me. “I wasn't there and I don't know what exactly it was you had to put yourself through for the past three months. Where I was, however, was here. I was with Will and Benji and all three of us were part of an incomplete team that never, regardless of how hard we all tried, felt complete.” Trailing off, her expression softens and she even goes so far as to flash me a grim smile. “We missed you even if you didn't miss us and, although this should go without saying, Will took your absence pretty badly and nearly worried himself sick about whether you were okay.”

“I didn't ask him to...”

“You didn't have to as he would have anyway.”

“Then that's his problem, not mine.”

“You...” Her expression souring, Jane shakes her head and, this time, prods her foot a tad too forcefully into my ankle. “You need to pull your head out of your ass, Ethan, you really do,” she states dully. “While, okay, I could stand here and try to get it through your pig-headed, closed-off skull that you've not only got friends here who are willing to help you in any way that they could, but that you've also got someone even more important in the form of the man who's both your best friend and lover, and who wants desperately to catch even a... hint... that the man he fell in love with is still inside you somewhere, but... You know what? Like you, I just can't be fucked. Close yourself off, Ethan. Push us all away. You don't care, so why should I...”

“It's not like I asked...” Falling silent as, quite literally out of nowhere, I realise that there's no way I can really respond to Jane's... verbal equivalent of a slap in the face... without just sounding even more self-absorbed and pathetic than I already have been, I shrug and drop my gaze to look down at my lap. “Whatever. It doesn't matter.”

“It does, but, again, I'm not going to argue with you,” Jane murmurs, turning her back on me as she starts to walk towards the door. “Oh... And as I sent him out with Benji, don't bother waiting for Will to pop his head back in the room and make the... apparently heinous... mistake of offering you a drink any time soon. He didn't want to go and just leave you but, seeing as he didn't deserve to be shouted at like he was, I insisted. I also tried to get through to him that he'd be better off just going back to his own home instead of coming back here and allowing you to have another go at him, but...” Pausing in the doorway, Jane glances over her shoulder and gives me sad, no nonsense look. “We'll see. If it was me I really would, just as I'm about to actually, leave you to it. You need to wake up to yourself, Ethan, and if that can only be achieved by being left to your own devices, then... So be it.”

“It's not like I need...”

“That's just it, you do. You really do. But... Whatever. Not needing this, I'm out of here.”

Her piece, if not her... lecture, duly delivered, Jane disappears from the doorway and I listen to first the sound of her footsteps down the stairs and then the front door being slammed forcefully shut before flopping down on my back on the bed and closing my eyes.

While I wish I could say Jane's attempt at... sharing a few cold, hard facts of life with me has delivered the kick up the ass I need to both wake up to myself and return to the land of of the – actually – living, sadly...

It just hasn't. 

I heard everything that she said, and a small part of my mind even accepts it as truth, but...

I don't even know if I'm the same person that I was.

I'm just... disconnected somehow, as though I'm not even entirely sure I belong...

Anywhere.

Paterson was all devil-may-care attitude. He didn't need anybody, no one was ever allowed to get close to him, and he really was, just as Jane said, a lone wolf. He did what he wanted, when he wanted, and he didn't give a fuck what anyone else ever thought of him. He was also foul mouthed, rude, arrogant, and a complete prick to be around. Despite his very specific, assassin-for-hire skill set and obvious usefulness to have around, no one liked him and his death would not have been mourned.

At first, as with all under-cover missions, playing Paterson was an exercise in both determination and concentration. It then, as I started to make his world my own, slowly became taken-for-granted, second nature. Then, by the time he – I – was captured by the gang's main competition and tortured for information, it was just... fact. I was no longer Ethan Hunt and the information they wanted from me had nothing to do with IMF and everything to do with Paterson's connections within the highly lucrative arms trafficking organisation. The act was so... entrenched... that I didn't even have to differentiate and knew that the intel I had to fight to keep to myself related solely to the gang. IMF, and my true purpose for being in the predicament that I was, didn't even enter into it.

I was... Marcus Paterson.

I am... Ethan Hunt.

Only...

Am I?

I look like him. I live in his house, wear his clothes, and have his friends. I even have, not that I'm treating him accordingly, his lover. He lurks around me, trying his hardest to do the right thing by me, and I... treat him like shit.

In fact, I treat him like Paterson would.

I ignore him, both shout and glower at him, effectively... dismiss... him, and, in general, treat him like little more than an annoyance in my otherwise fucking perfect life.

And Jane's right, he doesn't deserve it. 

Will doesn't deserve the horrible way I'm treating him, yet...

Although I know it sounds like a cop out, it's as if I honestly can't help myself. That, or Paterson really has taken me over and this is just how it's going to be from now on.

I've gone undercover for extended periods before. Of course I have. I've also... lost... myself before. Just because the mission has ended doesn't always mean that reality immediately returns to take its place. In fact, it... always... takes time. I come home, sit through the debriefing feeling as though I'm inhabiting two worlds simultaneously, write up my report in order to neatly seal the whole experience off, and then... I just work through pulling myself back together again in my own way and my own time. Some times, depending on the intensity of the mission, it might only take a couple of days, while other times it might take weeks before I start to fully feel like myself again. Either way, it's never a particularly pleasant time. Instead of feeling relief at it all being over, I feel... out of sorts, like I don't really know what it is I should be doing.

And, the thing is, and I'm thinking this could be perhaps what the root of my problem is at the moment, I've always worked my way back on my own. Although the number of days it took usually varied, I had a routine. First I'd catch up on my sleep, then I'd clean the house and make sure everything was where it should be before going for a run around the neighbourhood and reacquainting myself with all of the local landmarks. I'd then, once I was content that things were beginning to look like how I remembered them, phone Luther and he'd bring me up to speed on all the goings on that I'd missed while I was... otherwise occupied. It wasn't exactly rocket science, and I never once attended any of the counselling sessions IMF's pet psychiatrists used to try to get me to, but... It worked.

In my own way and in my own time, I always made it back. Yes, I was on my own, and while I can't just blithely declare that that was just how I liked it, it was what I was used to. For what it's worth I didn't particularly like it, but... It was what it was. I was alone and, with no one – caring – breathing down my neck, I was always able to, albeit eventually, pull myself back together again.

This time though...

I'm not alone.

I have a team who, instead of just being three people gifted to me in the name of the Secretary putting together a team, are more than just friends and who, really, are family to me in everything but blood. They care about me and they've missed me and, more than anything, they want the best for me. They want to be here for me and they want to help, and...

I just don't know what to make of it.

I'm not a lone wolf and I'm far from being in love with my own company. I also know – just as I'm fully aware I'm doing one hell of a job of not showing it – that I'd be completely lost without my friends. They mean everything to me and I'm grateful to them for their presence in my life.

It's just...

I've been without them for three months. Not necessarily by choice or preference, but definitely out of operational necessity. 

Not only that, but it wasn't just their... physical... presence I was cut off from either. No. It was so much as... thinking... about them as well. Marcus Paterson didn't know a Will or a Benji or a Jane, so subsequently I couldn't know them either. I couldn't miss them... or worry about what they were doing... or long to feel Will's arms around me, because... It wouldn't have been right. It wouldn't have conformed with the role I was playing and it could have, if I hadn't been concentrating or had been too busy dwelling on the life I would have preferred to have been leading, even have caused me to inadvertently slip up somehow. 

Again, to successfully be Marcus Paterson, I had to – cast off all aspects of my own life – fully become him. It's just how it is. I'm not one to do things by halves and, as it's my own choice and one I make freely, I'll do whatever it has to take to achieve the desired outcome.

Even if it means both forgetting who I am and hurting those I care about.

I didn't forget about Will, but as I couldn't think about him he... in a sense... simply ceased to exist to me.

That's not to say I didn't recognise him the second I opened my eyes in the hospital bed. As I did. Of course I did. I looked into his familiar blue eyes, noted how tired and worried he appeared, and... it was like observing a complete stranger.

And now...

Now I don't know what to do.

I don't want to be feeling like this or behaving like – an asshole – I am. I want to be caught up in the relief of the mission being finally over and the fact that, at long last, I'm back where I belong. I want Will to fuss around me and tend to my injuries without the fear of having his head bitten off and, most of all, I just want... him. I want Will. I want to be able to look at him and see the love and the comfort and the companionship that I used to always get from him before Marcus Paterson came along and threw everything into disarray.

I want things to go back to how they were.

It's just that I don't even know if they ever can.

Three months is, after all, quite a long time. And while Will might have spent them worrying about me I didn't, admittedly because I couldn't, spare him so much as a passing thought. For three months he didn't exist. Now, however, he's back.

I'm, at least in a physical sense if nothing else, back.

The team, we're all back. 

And while the others mightn't have changed, I can't shake the fear that perhaps I have, that maybe, this time, I did such a good job of becoming the role that I was playing that I won't – or simply... don't – have it in me to come fully back.

Sighing, I open my eyes and, despite feeling none the wiser as to what I'm going to do with myself than I did even before Will made the mistake of innocently offering me a cup of coffee, swing my legs over the edge of the mattress and sit up. My gaze falling on a framed photograph on top of the chest-of-drawers, I stand up and, without pausing to think about what I'm doing, walk over to it. Picking up the frame, I look down at the photo of Will, Jane and Benji that's contained within it and, for the first time in far too long, feel something akin to – God forbid – an emotion stir deep within me. While the photo itself is a lovely one of both Will and Jane laughing at something Benji had said as they walk through a park together, it's not the actual picture that's caught my attention and momentarily taken my breath away so much as it is the... memory... behind it. To the casual observer it's little more than a happy snap of three friends. Sure everyone looks happy in it, and the quality is nice and sharp, which indicates it was taken by both someone with a good eye and on a quality camera, but...

It's not really like that at all.

The photo, the only one I have on display in my room, isn't a happy snap at all. No. It's a surveillance photo. One that was taken by a particularly nasty gang who, at the time, we had no clue were on to the fact we were sniffing around their operations. Although the mission went our way and we were able to take them down without too much difficulty, it wasn't until we were back at HQ going through all their accumulated computers and paperwork that the photos, hundreds and hundreds of them, came to light and, while, okay, it didn't matter all that greatly as it was all in the past and we'd come out on top, seeing them still... shook me. Not only had we been observed without our knowledge, but I couldn't help but look at the photos and imagine them, the moments in time that they captured, being viewed through the scope of a sniper rifle.

We didn't know.

They could have picked us off one by one and, just like that, it would have been game over.

It was a wake-up call both in terms of constantly needing to be on our guard, and... that I couldn't just go on turning a blind eye to how I felt about Will. Granted, we took our lives into our own hands every time we accepted a mission and, yes, there'd been near-misses before, but this... This was too close to home as it would have come from an unknown, unexpected threat.

They were only photographs, but they could just as easily have been well-aimed bullets.

Unnerved by this, I weighed up the pros and cons – if he was interested then all well and good, and if he wasn't then... at least I'd know and could put it out of my mind – and decided to make my move. I wasn't entirely confident that said... move... was going to be greeted with open arms, but I had to know if I'd been reading the signs, the way he lingered in my company and always seemed to be glancing at me when he thought no one would notice, correctly. It was a calculated risk, one that I hadn't been in a huge rush to put into action in case, one way or another, it messed up the working relationship we already had, but, thanks to the gang's surveillance photos, I knew that I had to. I had to make my move and just hope for the best.

And, thankfully, it paid off.

Will felt the same way and, instead of it just being a – fling – something we both needed to get out of our system before putting it behind us and moving on, we discovered that there was far more to how we felt about each other than either of us had ever truly contemplated. We also discovered that with both work and effort, we could actually make a go of having a proper relationship and that, without a doubt, there was no question that it was worth it. From the oddest of beginnings courtesy of a photograph that never should have been taken, we found we had something special together and, despite never having been overly sentimental, I kept the photo I'm looking at now as a sort of memento. 

I still love him, I do. I'm just not being fair on him though and know, once again courtesy of this photograph delivering the kick up the ass I've been in need of, that something has to give. If nothing else I have to find the – courage – inclination to sit him down and try to explain to him just what it is I'm going through and how, as the last thing I want is hurt him, I'd understand perfectly if he wanted to take a break and just leave me to it. I'm not pleasant to be around, I'm treating him horribly for no other reason than I can and he keeps placing himself in my line of – fire – sight, and, there being no two ways of looking at it, he deserves better. Far better. Not holding out much hope of encountering some sort of miracle and fully waking up to myself any time soon, Will needs to get out while he still can. That, and while he's still in one piece. His nature always having been far more instinctively caring than mine's ever been, the way I've been behaving would be eating away at him and tearing him apart, and...

I can't keep doing it to him.

I just can't. He deserves better, and if that means cutting his losses and turning his back on me, then, seriously, so be it. Given that I can't help myself at the moment, the very least I can do is try to help Will by setting him loose.

As plans go it's far from a great one, and I'd only be lying if I said I was happy with it. It's all that I've got though and, my mind having now been made up, I'll do what I can to see it through.

Biting back a sigh, I place the frame face down on the chest-of-drawers and, wanting to present an as together-as-I-possibly-can picture to Will when he – hopefully – returns, head into the en suite. Stripping off my pyjama pants and long sleeved t-shirt, I step into the shower and, once the water is as hot as I can manage it, begin to wash myself. As is becoming par for the tedious course these days, I keep my mind deliberately blank as I go through the motions of making myself – on the outside at least – presentable and once I'm washed, dry, clean-shaven, and my teeth are freshly brushed and my breath smelling of peppermint, I return to the room and get dressed in the first pieces of clean clothing I come to. Really not paying much attention to what I'm doing, I don't realise that the hooded sweatshirt I've topped my jeans with is Will's until it's too late and I'm smoothing it down over my torso. It's only a dark grey, IMF sweatshirt, certainly nothing special and it's not as though we haven't worn each other's clothes before, but I know it's Will's because it's been cared for better than mine has and because, despite having thought it was clean when I picked it up, I can smell the faint aroma of his aftershave on it.

I...

I have to do this.

I have to be strong, for Will, and I have to both harden my heart and my resolve in order to see my plan through. If the photo, and now the scent of his aftershave, can't get through to me and banish the remnants of Marcus Paterson once and for all, then I have to push ahead. I mean, what other choice, unless I want to reinforce my status of being a complete asshole, that is, do I honestly have?

My mood, not that I would have even thought it possible, taking a further dip for the worse, I walk out of the bedroom and slowly make my way downstairs. Too vague, sore, and crabby to have wanted to leave my room since Will and Benji helped me into it however many days ago it was now, this is the first time I've spent any time in the ground floor of my house for months and, curiously, I'm actually surprised by how dark it is. While part of my brain dimly realises that it has to be winter, time has meant so little to me for so long now that it's no exaggeration to say that I honestly have no idea whatsoever in respect to what time of day it is. It could be late afternoon or it could even be evening. I just don't know and, for no specific reason other than it gives me an all-too-brief sense of purpose, I decide to head into the living room so that I can read the time on the screen of the blu-ray player. Entering it, I turn on the overhead light and, as my breath catches in my throat, instantly lose all interest in knowing what the time is.

A Christmas tree.

That is... The beginnings of a Christmas tree. Fake, but expensive enough to look better than a real tree ever could, it sits abandoned by the television set with only its lower branches in place, and...

Dear God.

The sight of it just takes my breath away.

It's Christmas? Did I even know that it was December? Just... how much time did Marcus Paterson really take from me?

Will, he...

He must have started putting it up in the hope of things finally returning to normal before just... accepting that they weren't going back to how they should have been at all and... giving up.

Feeling just that little bit faint, I sink down into the nearest armchair and bury my head in my hands.

Christmas.

I...

I didn't even know that it was Christmas. There were probably decorations up in the hospital but, too busy focussed on my internal dilemma of trying to work out who I really was, I never paid them any attention. Just...

Fuck. How could I be so self-absorbed?

Will loves Christmas. I remember last Christmas, our first together, how his enthusiasm at being able to decorate a tree together had rubbed off on me and how much... fun... we'd had squabbling good naturedly over the placement of the baubles. I also remember...

Jerking my head up as, suddenly, another, more recent memory tramples all over the one from last Christmas, I jump to my feet and, despite my body not really being up to it, run upstairs. Knowing that Paterson's meagre collection of belongings, the ones I hope and pray were collected from his hovel of a motel room, aren't being stored in my room as I would have seen them already, I hurry into the study, the first room I come to, and, finding it looking as blandly neat and unlived in as it did three months ago, very nearly kick the door in frustration. Not wanting to fall prey to the fear of Paterson's crap being back at HQ instead of here, I leave the study and, feeling more light headed and breathless than I did at the sight of the Christmas tree in the living room, make my way across the corridor to the guest bedroom. There, to my beyond great relief, I find the motley collection of suitcases and boxes that I'd been hoping for and, like a man possessed, tear through their contents until I find what it is I was looking for.

Once it's in my hands, and my heartbeat is slowly beginning to return to normal, I take a seat on the edge of mattress and just clutch the small brown paper bag to my chest as though my very life depended on it.

What I have in my hands holding even more importance to me than the framed photograph in my bedroom does, I just can't believe that, until now, I'd completely forgotten about it. Despite breaking my number one rule of undercover work to purchase it, it had just completely slipped my mind and I could have easily – too easily – let it disappear in to the detritus of Paterson's brief, yet far reaching life.

It might only be a small, regardless of how ridiculously valuable it is, small thing, but what I now have in my hands is...

… An epiphany.

… A get out of jail free card.

… Both hope and truth entwined.

… Proof that I'm wrong. Gloriously misguided and totally wrong.

… A tangible declaration of love.

It may still be a case of too little, too late, I know that, but it's a start. A start that actually... started... when, really, it shouldn't have, and which may yet end up meaning more to me than it does Will.

But...

Again though, it's still a start. One I didn't have ten minutes ago and one, given the alternatives I've been contemplating, that I'm actually reasonably confident of pinning my hopes to. 

It'll work.

It... has... to work.

Hearing the front door open and close, I relax my grip on the bag and, as a curious sense of calm – what will be, will be – washes over me, slowly get to my feet. Although my – obviously complete with their own set of house keys – visitor could just as easily be either Jane or Benji, I mentally cross my fingers that Will's found it in himself to return and, all the time keeping a very careful hold on the paper bag, walk back down the stairs. Although the ground floor is silent and there's no longer any light coming from out of the living room, I nonetheless deduce that's where my guest has to be and, as butterflies ignore the inner sense of calm I'd been experiencing upstairs and begin to flutter in the pit of my stomach, make my way over to the doorway. The room being in close to complete darkness, I flick the overhead light on without really thinking before, pretty much simultaneously with spotting Will sitting slump-shouldered against the arm of the sofa, reaching for the dimmer switch and lowering the brightness to a much more warm and manageable glow. Even in the dull light though Will clearly looks both tired and depressed and I have to forcefully quash the feeling of – this is YOUR fault, asshole – self-loathing that the sight of him instantly installs in me before bringing myself to take a hesitant step into the room. 

“I...” I hold the bag out in front of me like some sort of peace offering as, his expression hardening, Will doesn't even turn his head to glance at me. “I have something for you.”

“If it's more attitude,” Will replies flatly as he steadfastly keeps his gaze focussed on the coffee-table, “then... Please. Don't bother. I've already had enough of that for one week and, seeing as I've never considered myself a masochist, I don't even really know what it is I'm doing back here. So... Whatever it is you're suddenly wanting to say to me, Ethan, just... Keep it to yourself as I don't want to hear it.”

“Not... Uh... Not trusting myself to undo all the damage I've caused with just words, it... It's actually a present,” I murmur, placing the bag on the coffee-table in front of Will before, not wanting to push my luck, retreating to the armchair and taking a seat on the edge of it. “I... I got it for you last month but only remembered it when I saw the... uh... start of the tree over there.”

“Last month?” Frowning, Will lifts his head and glances fleetingly over at me before letting his gaze drop to the paper bag. “But you were undercover as Paterson last month,” he continues, still frowning. “I thought... Your rule number one. Isn't that...”

“To never let your own life slip through your cover,” I finish with a nod. “Yes. It is.”

“But...”

“But when I saw it I thought of you immediately and just knew that I had to get it for you. Yes, it meant having to come up with a reason as to why Paterson was wanting to buy it, but...” Sighing, I lean forward and gesture at the bag. “Please, Will. Just open it and... hopefully... you'll see why I had to have it, why I... couldn't help but think of you...”

And...

… Why I have my hopes pinned on it now.

“I...” Echoing my sigh, Will sits up straighter and, picking up the bag, places it on his lap. “It's from an antique store,” he murmurs, tracing his finger along the elaborate Gothic script spelling out the store's name on the front of the bag. “You were in an antique store, because...?”

“Because Thurston was wanting to kit out his new office and, indulging in the delusion that he had good taste, he decided that antiques were the way to go,” I reply, referring to both IMF's main goal and the man Paterson was working for. “I was just there as muscle.”

“Yet... You saw something that you had to buy.”

“I did.”

“But...” Will's overly logical streak meaning that he has to get to the bottom of... how... I was able to buy whatever it was I purchased before he can actually open it, he glances back over at me and gives me an expectant look. “Paterson not striking me as the sort to appreciate a good antique when he sees one, how did...”

“I came up with the bullshit story that a previous employer, one who, of course, was based in Japan and of no interest to Thurston's operations at all, collects them and, as it never hurts to be in the good books of those willing to pay for your services, I wanted to buy it so I could send it to him as a 'good will' gift,” I explain, shrugging as I wish Will would get on with just opening the bag already. “He seemed to accept it easily enough and... And I just hope it was the worth the risk...”

“Well, I suppose there's only one to way to find out, isn't there,” Will responds as, finally, he pulls the plain white cardboard box out of the bag and places it on the coffee-table. “If it helps, I definitely have to say you've managed to raise my curiosity,” he adds, flashing me the briefest of smiles as, letting the bag drop to the floor, he lifts open the lid of the box. His eyes widening at what he sees nestled amongst the tissue paper, he sucks his breath in with what I choose to read as shock and, both very gently and very slowly, removes the small glass reindeer from its cardboard resting place. “You,” he gasps, his gaze locked on the figurine as he rests it on the palm of his hand. “Ethan... You remembered...”

“I did.” Despite living cut off from my own life and as Marcus Paterson, the second I saw the glass reindeer half-hidden in the back of the display case in the antique store I thought of Will and the story he'd told me last Christmas and knew, regardless of whatever it took, that I couldn't leave without it. 

It was the night of the twenty-fourth of December and, because it was both our first Christmas together and because, well, we... could, we were spending it in bed. In between bouts of lovemaking, and again, because we both could and thought it was in keeping with the festive spirit of the evening, we shared memories of Christmases past and, out of all of the anecdotes and tales Will regaled me with, the one about his grandmother's glass reindeer just stood out the most. Being the only living grandparent while he was growing up, it was his family's tradition to always spend Christmas with his grandmother, just as it was her own tradition to always deck out every nook and cranny of her home into a festive wonderland. 

As a small child, Will had loved spending Christmas at his grandmother's and, out of all her myriad decorations – from dime store tat to family heirlooms that had been handed down through the generations – he'd always been especially taken with the glass reindeer that took pride of place on top of the piano. Slightly art nouveau in that it's design was more in the... shape... of a reindeer in style than it was an actual representation of a reindeer, the figurine was made of clear glass and accented around the feet, head and antler with a vibrant blue. He'd loved everything from the strange shape of it to the colour of the blue and the feel of the cool glass in his small hands and, knowing how much it seemed to mean to him, his grandmother had promised that it would be his when she passed. When this sad occurrence eventually happened though, the reindeer, instead of finding its way to Will, got scooped up with the rest of the contents of his grandmother's home and shipped off to auction by his uncle. Being sixteen at the time and not wanting to make a fuss over a glass reindeer, he didn't say anything and reluctantly let it go. I could tell, however, from both the tone of his voice as he told me and obvious sadness in his expression, that the reindeer really had meant a lot to him and that, despite his protests over knowing how useless it was, and how it's not as though he'd have a use for it, it was actually something he missed and would have liked to have had to remember his grandmother by.

More... pissed at his – selfish prick of an – uncle than I was paying attention to the description of the reindeer, the very star of the story, I can't say that I'd thought any more about it until... 

… Just last month when, completely randomly, I found myself staring at a strange looking glass reindeer with blue highlights. Seeing it in the antique store, it just... hit me like the proverbial tonne of bricks. I instantly, despite having done such a good job of putting him out of mind ever since pulling on the persona of Paterson six weeks before, thought of Will and... That was just that. Although it was breaking my own rule, I had to have it, and, not wanting to risk someone else coming in and buying it, I had to have it right then and there.

And...

It was worth it.

From knowing that I was able to break through my firmly entrenched, if not second nature act because I wanted to – one day – be able to surprise my lover, to... the look on Will's face now, it... Hell. It was more than worth it.

“I know it's not your grandmother's, and... maybe it's not even the same,” I murmur, leaning forward in my seat and giving Will a tentative smile, “but, I... When I saw it I just had to have it.”

“It may not be my grandmother's,” Will replies, smiling back at me as he lightly trails his finger along the curve of the reindeer's back, “but it's the same. It... Oh God, Ethan. From the size and the shape, to the colour of the blue, this... It's the same as hers. I... I'd remember it anywhere.” Standing up, he walks over to the fireplace and places the reindeer down reverently on the mantelpiece above it. “This... Thank you,” he whispers as, hurriedly wiping the back of his hand across his – suddenly bright with tears – eyes, he turns to face me. “This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me and I want you to know that... words can't even begin to do justice to how much it means to me.”

“I know it doesn't make up for the way I've been treating you, but...”

“Maybe I'm easy,” Will interrupts with a shrug as he walks back over to the sofa and sits down, “but I'm prepared to overlook your recent... attitude-problem... in favour of just concentrating on the future.” Pausing, he locks his bright-eyed gaze on mine and gives another shrug. “Look, Ethan, I understand. Perhaps not completely, as I've never gone in as deep undercover or for as long as you have, but I... I get it. I get that you're struggling to transition back and I get that it's not as easy as those who have never had to do it probably think it should be, but... It's okay. It is. I know now that you're still in there somewhere and I'm prepared to stick around to greet your return. Your return which, for what it's worth, I happen to think may even have arrived already.”

“But... I've been horrible to...”

“Paterson's been behaving like an asshole to everyone around him, but...” Trailing off, Will glances pointedly at his reindeer. “Ethan Hunt, on the other hand, he's pretty okay.”

“I'm not sure I deserve...”

“It's not about who deserves what, it's about... acceptance... and moving forward. Now, while I can't speak for you, I don't want to dwell on the past and would far prefer to look to the future. If, however, you'd prefer...”

“Not liking the past all that much, I think I'd prefer to choose the future as well,” I state, cutting Will off with a grin as I realise that, despite my best efforts to prove to the contrary, I may well just have to be the luckiest man alive. Will's taken my behaviour... and my – while perhaps not in so many words – apologies in his stride and, seriously, it really is nothing short of amazing. “Will, I... I just want you to know that I'm sorry and that, from this point forward, I'll fight to regain what we had before Paterson had to come along and throw everything off course. I know now that, more than anything, it's what I want, what, I hope, we... both... want.”

“If it helps, try looking at it this way,” Will murmurs, “and that's, seeing as I wouldn't be here now if it wasn't what I wanted... Of course it's what I want, you fool!” Laughing, he shakes his head and, as his expression suddenly brightens, leans over the arm of the sofa and picks up a small parcel from off the floor. “Seeing as I suspect there's no Christmas paper in the house anyway,” he continues somewhat cryptically as he scoots along the sofa and, with a smile, hands me the package, “you may as well have this now. In fact, I'd... like... you to have it now.”

Taking the package from Will, I look down at it and see that it's actually a brown cardboard shipping box and that it was sent to Will's home address from the United Kingdom. “If this is meant as a Christmas present,” I murmur, turning the box over in my hands, “I am happy to wait, you know.”

“Seeing as it's Christmas Eve already, it's not as though you'd have to wait very long anyway,” Will surprises me by replying as he gestures impatiently at the box. “Come on, Ethan. Please. Just open it. Yes, I meant it as a Christmas present, but... I want you to have it now.”

“Twist my arm, why don't you...” Smiling, I fold back the lid of the box and ferret through the sea of packing peanuts until my hand closes around what feels to be a strange shaped object made of cold metal. Unsure as to just what it is Will's got me, I quickly shoot him a bemused look before pulling my gift out of the box and gazing down at it.

“Oh...”

Just... Oh.

Oh, as in... I wasn't the only one listening closely last Christmas.

“It's the right one, isn't it?” Will queries anxiously as he reaches out and takes the box from my lap. “Ethan? Seeing as they seem to have been releasing them every year ever since, I could have got one of the re-releases, or... I even could have got a mint-in-box original, but... I thought you might have liked an original that you could actually... uh... play with... But... Uh... If it's the wrong one or...”

“It's the right one, and... it's perfect,” I murmur, placing the white die-cast Lotus Esprit on the palm of my hand and, as I continue to stare down at it myself, holding it out for Will to get a better look at.

It's not just any white die-cast Lotus Esprit though. No. It's a model of the white Lotus Esprit that doubled – for the wont of a better description – as a submarine in the James Bond movie, The Spy Who Loved Me. I'd desperately wanted one for Christmas back in 1977 when the movie – which, after much begging on my part, my father had taken me to see – had been released but, not believing my youthful assertion that I was going to be a spy when I grew up, my parents had fallen for the hype of the year's other massive movie hit, Star Wars, and had given me action figures of Luke Skywalker, Han Solo and Darth Vader instead. Knowing that they'd meant well and that, okay, the action figures gave me a better chance of fitting in with the other kids in the playground than the Lotus ever would have, I hid my disappointment at my unwanted presents and never mentioned the car again.

Never mentioned it, that is, until last Christmas when, for some reason, I told Will all about how disappointed I was at not getting it and how it was during the Christmas of '77 that I gave up on believing in Santa Claus.

And now Will, having listened carefully to my tale, has given me the same car I'd wanted all those years ago when I was seven and, yet again, I can hardly believe my good fortune at having him – still – in my life.

“Are you sure?” Still looking far from convinced that he's successfully managed to get the right toy for me, Will places the box on the coffee-table and, reaching out his hand, taps his finger on the roof of the Lotus. “I checked it over when it arrived and, just as the seller said it was, it's still complete. The missiles are still the originals, the firing mechanism still works and...”

“If I press this button here,” I smile, stroking my finger along both the button on the roof of the Lotus and, because it just happens to be there as well, the tip of Will's finger, “it'll turn into the submarine. Look...” Pressing the button, we both watch – with, it just has to be said, a sense of childish wonderment that, all our skills as agents aside, I'm not entirely sure we could even have faked if we'd wanted to – as fins pop out of both sides of the car. “See? It works perfectly because... it is... perfect.”

I wanted this toy car when I was eight years old. In fact, for the Christmas of '77 it was... all... that I'd wanted. And yet, if I had actually got it back then I don't think it would have meant so much as a quarter of what it means to me now. I'm, and let's be completely honest here, a somewhat jaded adult who can, if need be, quite contentedly live out of suitcase for months on end. I don't collect anything and inanimate objects, unless they serve a purpose, mean nothing to me.

This, however... This small, die-cast model of Bond's Lotus Esprit, while not without monetary value in its right, granted, but which is ultimately useless, it...

It means the world to me.

It really does.

“You like it, yeah?” Will murmurs, giving me a funny, possibly even vaguely embarrassed look. “I know it's only a toy, but...”

“As I couldn't have asked for a better present,” I interrupt with a reassuring smile, “I love it. In fact, if you must know, it means more to me now than if I'd gotten it all those decades ago. Just...” My breath catching in my throat, I stand up and, walking over to the mantelpiece, gently place the Lotus down next to the reindeer. “Thank you. You... You have no idea, especially as I know I don't deserve it, how much it means to me.”

“Paterson, mind you, wouldn't have deserved it. Hell, even that hideous Moonraker space shuttle would have been too good for that obnoxious bastard,” Will responds as he gets up from the sofa and comes over to join me by the fireplace. “You, however...” Pausing, he shrugs and flashes me a truly happy looking grin. “I'm okay with you having it.”

“Okay, huh?”

“Mmm... I did, just in case you want to hide it before they come over for lunch tomorrow, have to fight Benji for it when it arrived though, so... You know, there was competition for it and there was a time when it could have easily gone either way.”

“And despite my horrible, antisocial behaviour, I still managed to come out on top? I'm impressed.”

“Mmm...” Shifting closer, Will drapes his arms over my shoulders and locks his very blue eyed gaze on mine. “Then again, it... was... bought for you, and... only... you, so...”

“Just as the reindeer was bought for you,” I murmur, sliding my arms around Will's waist and, despite the twinge of discomfort it causes in my battered and bruised body, pulling him close for a very overdue embrace. “I... Will... I've missed you. I may have only owned up to it myself this afternoon, but... You've got no idea how much I've missed you.”

“Oh... If it's even half as much as I've missed you, trust me, I think I know,” Will whispers in my ear before pulling slightly back and planting a soft kiss on my forehead. “But... It's over now, and it's Christmas, and... not wanting to live in the past, I just want to make the most of it. So... How about we ignore the fact we've had our only presents already and, because I know all your aches and pains are making you feel like shit even though you're trying hard not to show it, you go and make yourself comfortable on the sofa while I, arguably better late than never, finish putting the tree up, yeah... How does that sound?”

“Like it'd be a good idea if not for the small fact of life that I rather like my current position and don't particularly want to move,” I reply only half facetiously as I follow Will's lead by leaning forward and kissing his forehead. “Missing you, I hope you realise, kind of goes hand in hand with having missed... this... too.”

“And again I say, trust me, I know.” Punctuating his response with a soft, lingering kiss on my lips, Will steps back and, taking my hand in his, slowly pulls me over to the sofa. “Think about it though... The quicker I get the tree up and decorated, the...sooner... I'll be able to join you on the sofa. Mmm? Does that sound any better to you?”

Nodding, I let him help me down onto the sofa. “When you put it that way, I like the way that you think.”

“I thought you might,” Will replies, giving me an appraising look before, having made his mind up, grabbing the blanket up from the back of the sofa and draping it over me. “Oh... And should you so much as think about complaining about my nursing skills or the fact that I'm planning on shoving painkillers down your throat in the not too distant future, just... keep it to yourself,” he adds in a light-hearted, warning tone. “Alternatively, mouth off to your heart's content and, seeing as my recollections of decorating the tree last year have you behaving like some sort of bauble Nazi, you're not going to like where I place them this year.”

“Mouth off? Me? Never,” I murmur sweetly as, more relieved by getting to relax on the sofa than I want to let on, I stretch out along its length and point at the tree. “Go on, then. I'll just supervise from here.”

“Supervise? Dictate, more like,” Will mock grumbles, shooting me another warning look as he walks over to the corner of the room and begins to drag the box containing the rest of the branches over to the tree. “Don't think I'm joking though, Ethan, as I'm not. Stick your nose in too much in what I'm doing and you're not going to like where some of the baubles end up.”

“These baubles... Am I not going to like... where they end up on the tree, or... just where exactly it is you might decide to try to shove them?

“As I haven't decided yet, the ball... or as the case may be, bauble... is well and truly in your court.”

Laughing, not only at our banter but also at how... fucking amazing... it is that we're already slipping back into our easy, effortless ways, I both shake my head and roll my eyes. “Seeing as I don't want to be asleep before you get to join me, how about a little less talking and a lot more decorating?”

“Boss, boss,” Will smirks as he waves a tree branch at me in a show of feigned disapproval. “I don't know how I ever managed without you, I really don't.”

“Given the half-assed state of the tree, my guess would be... badly.” Grinning, I pile up the cushions behind my head and, once I'm comfortable and have Will and the tree directly in my line of sight, gesture at him airily. “So... Tomorrow's really Christmas Day?”

“Tomorrow's really Christmas Day,” he confirms as, kneeling by the box, he begins to pile the branches up by their size. “What's more, despite their... considerable, I might add... misgivings about whether your award winning Grinch act would ruin the day or not, both Jane and Benji are coming around for lunch. So... Uh... I hope that's okay.”

“As long as Jane's not cooking, that's more than fine. In fact, seeing as I didn't enjoy my Grinch act any more than my... uh... audience did, I'm looking forward to showing them that... I'm back,” I respond as, my mood turning serious, I yet again can't believe just how unbelievably lucky I've really been.. “That... Thanks to you, that is, I'm back.”

“I didn't do anything,” Will protests with a shake of his head as he looks up from his piles of branches. “I... If you must know, I didn't think there was... anything... that I could do. You were so... distant... that I was starting to worry that I'd lost you for good. I mean, I wasn't going to give up without one hell of a fight, but... Seeing as I felt useless, it was hard. It was just really, really... hard.”

“Without... having... to do anything,” I murmur, glancing over at the mantelpiece and letting my gaze fall first onto the Lotus and then onto the small glass – catalyst – reindeer, “you, Will... You did everything...”

~ end ~


End file.
